


Auld Lang Syne

by idelthoughts



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mission: send Henry home stinking drunk.  It wasn't therapy exactly, but it'd do in a pinch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auld Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> Post Skinny-Dipper. Thanks to [washingwater](http://washingwater.tumblr.com/) for the beta help.

Hanson excused himself when the doorbell rang, and opened the door to find Jo on his doorstep. He threw his arms wide and pulled her into a hug, laughing.

“You made it!” 

“Yeah, we did, sorry we’re late. The train was a nightmare, so we cabbed it out.”

“We?”

Over her shoulder he saw Henry standing two steps down on the stoop, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders pulled up to his ears, as though he could bury himself in that pricey scarf. 

“Hey, Henry! Thanks for coming.” 

Jo went past Hanson into the house, and he thrust out a hand towards Henry, who took it solemnly. Henry had a package tucked under one arm, and when Hanson released his hand Henry turned it over.

“Thank you for having me to your home. Happy New Year.” 

Henry offered a polite smile and a little nod of thanks. Hanson took the bag, and inside was a nice bottle of champagne. 

“Oh, wow. Thanks, Doc. We’ll crack this at midnight!”

He patted Henry on the back as he went past him into the house, where the party was already in full swing.

Hanson took a tour through the kitchen to pop the champagne in the fridge, and watched through the doorway as Jo practically shoved Henry out the entrance way into the living room. She must have worked a miracle to drag Henry out here. The man still looked stiff as a board. Not that Hanson could find any room in his heart to blame him; he’d been through some tough times the last few months.

The hell of it was, they’d all been there. Every single one of them in the whole department had gone loony tunes at some point, everybody taking their turn like it was a game of tag. Nobody could really judge if the good doctor’s coping mechanism was diving into the river naked. Sure, it was hilarious, but if that’s what it took to make you feel alive, then do it. Dive right in. 

Hanson knew that if a psychopath was after him, he’d probably be doing crazier things than moonlight skinny dipping. Man, being stalked for months, and tight-lipped about it the whole time, then taking him down with his bare hands and a letter opener. 

Under all those fancy clothes, the doctor was a real tough bastard. Hanson poked his head out the doorway and called out to Henry. 

“Hey, Doc? Whatcha drinking—we got wine, beer, some hard stuff?”

Henry wandered over towards him. “What kind of wine do you have?”

“We got red, we got white. Take your pick.”

Henry’s face did some sort of contortion like he was in pain. His mouth dropped open and he took a deep breath, and Hanson braced himself for the gust of hot air that was about to blow his way along with a lecture on something or other—probably the history of wine, and that unless Hanson had those grapes hand-crushed by fairies in the backyard, Henry wasn’t going to drink it.

Before he could get going though, Jo appeared at his elbow. “Red. Red sounds great. Doesn’t it, Henry?”

She smiled at him pleasantly, and Henry blinked at her, and then turned back to Hanson. 

“Yes. Red sounds lovely. Thank you.”

Jo, pleased with herself, turned back to Hanson with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. He shook his head at her, and went to fetch their glasses.

Looked like Jo had a project. Heaven help Henry; he’d have no peace so long as Jo was on his case. 

 

***

 

“See, isn’t this nice?”

Henry took a sip of his wine—disturbingly, ‘red’ was the only qualifier he could put on it, though it was mild and pleasant enough—and surveyed the room. Most of the department had turned out for the annual event, which Hanson traditionally hosted, and had brought their families as well, making for a festive and happy affair. 

“Yes, it is,” he admitted. 

“You could have brought Abe, you know.” 

“He had a prior engagement.”

Abraham was likely well into his date by now; how the man managed to have such an active social calendar, Henry would never be able to fathom. But Abe had never been a slouch about finding a date if he wanted one, and Henry had long ago given up any hope that Abe would settle down. 

Abe was the one who’d taken Jo’s phone call, and accepted on Henry’s behalf, taking it upon himself to make sure Henry didn’t sit at home alone while he was out. When Henry protested—rather loudly and a little too angrily, for which he’d been forced to apologize—Abe had threatened to bodily toss him out the door and change the locks if he didn’t go. 

Jo had a paper plate with nibbles on it, and she thrust it at him. She wasn’t going to be satisfied unless she had visual evidence he was enjoying himself to the utmost, so he chose a small chocolate biscuit and gnawed on it, washing it down with the wine. Her smile was ridiculously smug.

He sighed. There were worse things than having people care about him, he supposed.

“You going to take any more time off?” Jo asked.

“No. I’d like to get back to my regular schedule, put things back in order.”

Jo nodded. “I get that.”

Three weeks had been long enough for him to crave the order of routine. He’d scrubbed his entire laboratory clean, erasing the last evidence of the invasion of their home, then torn through the whole house putting things to rights. For the first week he’d shadowed Abe at every step. Not on purpose, mind, but each time Abe had gone somewhere, Henry had grabbed up his coat with a ready excuse to join him, until Abe was almost at his wits end to be constantly turning around and finding Henry there. 

Some scares didn’t leave easily, and the fear he’d lost his son, though a short-lived certainty, had stamped its brand on him. Adam was still out there, and armed with the knowledge from Henry’s own lips that Abe was the most important person in this world to him. No, Henry wasn’t eager to let Abe wander on his own at this point, and with mandatory stress leave from work, Henry had nothing but time. 

What a row that had been. They’d not had an argument like that in ages.

Eventually they’d calmed down and talked it over, and come to the conclusion that they couldn’t stop living their lives just because Adam was still out there. If they did that, they might as well pack up and leave—which was still the smart thing to do, but for the first time in a long time, Henry had no desire to flee.

He looked over at Jo, and realized she was watching him with concern. He really needed to pull himself together a bit better.

“How have your holidays been, Detective?”

Jo shrugged. “Oh you know, same old. My mom’s in Philly now, so’s my sister and her family, so I drove down there for Christmas Day. Hanson’s been off, so other than that I’ve been at work handling the case load.”

“That is kind of you.”

“Well, you know. He’s got a family.” 

She gestured to the kids running loose in the living room, having the time of their lives among the holiday gaiety. 

The other half of her thought was left unsaid, and Henry grimaced internally. This was her first holiday without her husband. Well, so much for light small talk—he was on quite a roll tonight. He downed more wine and plucked another treat off her paper plate.

“These are much better than the fruitcake my staff forced on me,” he said, taking a bite of the biscuit. “It was hard as a stone, though quite attractively presented.”

“Fruitcake is the ugly stepsister of holiday food,” Jo said. “Totally evil.”

“No! No, not at all.” Henry shook his head, waving a hand to dismiss her cynical sentiment. “Done right it’s delicious, but it requires time and careful planning. You see, the secret lies in tea—no, don’t laugh—“

 

***

 

Jo nodded, trying to keep a straight face as Henry launched into the apparently deep topic of traditional fruitcake preparation. Hanson cruised by and refreshed their wine as they chatted, and Henry’s animated lecture was a continuous threat to his newly filled glass.

It was a relief to see him a little more himself. She’d checked in with him once since the night at his home, and as usual, she hadn’t gotten much out of him. 

Henry shook his head, and took another sip of his wine. “Honestly, I can’t believe it. I’ll make you a proper fruitcake. You’ll change your mind.”

“Whatever you say, Henry.” 

He shot her a look that said he knew she was patronizing him, but there was enough amusement in it that she knew he wasn’t deeply bothered.

Pretty soon the mulled wine was trotted out, and the party started to take on the shiny glow of free-flowing alcohol. The secret santa gift exchange was a mess. She ended up with some god-awful pin from one of the desk sergeants, that had sparkly cut glass gems in different colours decorating a green Christmas tree. 

Henry opened his box and pulled out a mug.

“‘I see dead people,’” he read, and then looked up at her, frowning. “I see dead people?”

Jo snorted. “That’s amazing.”

Just then, Hanson swooped past with another bottle.

“Empty glass, can’t have it!” he cried.

He poured more wine into Henry’s new mug, and was already moving along with a wave of his fingers before Henry could protest. Hanson gave Jo a little wink as he went, and she spotted his game. Keep Henry well-watered, send him home stinking drunk and give him a hangover to worry about tomorrow instead of his real troubles.

Well, it had worked for her enough times. Jo held out her glass and clinked it against Henry’s mug. 

“Cheers.”

He drew in a breath and held it, and let it all out in one explosive gust. “Oh, when in Rome.” He took a long drink, and licked his lips when he lowered it.

“That’s the spirit,” she said. 

Henry was looking a little more relaxed and in the mood to enjoy the party. He’d at least stopped stuffing his hands in his pockets and scowling, which was a start. 

A few folks were chatting nearby, and Jo and Henry got roped into their conversation circle. After a few minutes, Henry was engaged in the idle chatter, and Jo took the opportunity to slip away and go say hi to some other people. Best to let Henry swim a little on his own; she had dragged him out here, but she wasn’t going to try and babysit him all night. He was a grown man, after all. He looked like he was doing fine, too—Maria, one of the sergeants, had made no secret of thinking Henry was pretty cute, and she was taking her opportunity to talk his ear off.

Time got away from her, and next thing she knew, it was closing on midnight and her face was sore from smiling. This had done her a world of good, getting out with some friends. It had been the most dismal week and she was glad to be putting it behind her.

No, she was ready to put the whole year behind her. She wasn’t going to let the melancholy drag her down tonight, and distracted herself by looking around to see if she could spot Henry and see how he was doing.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The countdown was on, and she joined in the chorus, until everyone erupted in great cries of “Happy New Year!” and the buzzing of party favours and whistles. 

Hanson was nearby, giving his wife a kiss, and Jo grinned as Hanson’s wife slapped him on the behind before running off to play hostess some more. Hanson grabbed hold of Jo and pulled her in for a hug and a kiss on her cheek.

“Happy New Year, Jo,” he said.

“Back at you.” She hugged him tight. Yeah, coming out here had been a good choice.

“Holy Moses,” Hanson said as he released her. “Well, looks like Henry’s doing okay for himself tonight.”

Jo looked around. Maria had hold of Henry and was kissing him within an inch of his life, to the hoots and hollers of friends. She finally released him, and he blinked fuzzily, lipstick smeared across his face. Maria patted his cheek, and he gave her a stunned look, trying to straighten his tie.

Hanson chuckled. “Now there you go—send him home with Maria. That’ll be some stress relief for the guy.”

“No way. I’m taking him home tonight.” Hanson made a ridiculous noise and wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she punched him in the arm. “Oh, shut up. You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Hanson rubbed a hand across his chin. “You know though, it’s not like you couldn’t think about it. I mean, not necessarily Henry. But anybody.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I’m just—I’m not there yet.”

“Yeah.” Hanson put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her. “There’s no rush.”

She nodded, grateful for the support. He’d been a real crutch for her over the last year. Lately he’d been more pushy about trying to get her back out into the world, but he was still willing to let her have her space. All in all, he was a pretty good partner to have.

Across the room, Maria had Henry backed into a corner, and it looked like the New Years kiss was going to get a reprise. Henry looked up and caught them looking over at him, and he gave them a desperate look. She and Hanson chuckled.

“Well, I’d probably best go rescue Henry,” she said.

“Go on, then.”

She wasn’t even all the way over there when Henry stretched out a hand towards her, greeting her loudly.

“Oh, Detective Martinez! Yes, we needed to talk about that—that thing. Yes, quite right.” He looked back to Maria and smiled broadly, a little manic. “It was lovely chatting with you. Thank you for—for that. Yes.”

Henry took Jo by the arm and pulled her away, and she couldn’t stop giggling at his high-speed departure. They made it into the relative quiet of the hallway, and and Henry leaned against the wall, blowing out a breath.

Jo was nearly in tears with her laughter. “Oh my god, Henry, your _face_.”

“What?”

Jo pulled out a napkin from her pocket and wiped at Henry’s mouth, which was smeared with bright red lipstick, and pulled it away to show him. “Oh, she did a number on you.”

Henry took the napkin from her and scrubbed at his face with a sheepish expression. “She was very nice. Very—enthusiastic.”

“Yeah, that she is. I’m sure Maria’s going to be crowing about this for a long time.”

Henry laughed, and leaned his head back against the wall. “Well, it’s been a few years since I’ve had a New Years kiss. Perhaps I was overdue. Though I think she made up for decades worth of missed kisses with that one.”

Listening to him talk now, she could tell Henry was just as drunk as Hanson had intended. His clipped pronunciation was softened, and he was bleary eyed and pink in the cheeks. All the tension he’d been carrying was washed away, leaving him loose-limbed. 

It might not be therapy, but sometimes when you needed to relax, it would do. Right now, Henry looked like he’d forgotten his troubles, and even a brief respite was good when stuff got too heavy to carry.

But the party wasn’t done with them yet—Henry’s fancy champagne came around, and then Hanson insisted on sharing some of his ‘special reserve’ with Henry and Jo, which turned out to be horrible stuff they choked down in a shot. 

That was when she found out Henry could sing. Actually, that was when the whole party found out Henry could sing. 

Realizing no one had sung Auld Lang Syne yet, Henry started up the chorus. Jo wasn’t much of a singer so she mumbled her way through, mostly laughing more than singing, but Henry and Hanson were belting it out loud and proud and leading the rest of the group along, Henry with his hand held out and projecting like an opera singer. 

As the night wore on, Jo was holding up much better than Henry. Hanson, about ready to hit the floor himself, had been trading toasts with Henry all night and generally being as bad an influence as he could manage. Crossing over to Jo, Henry nearly took a tumble when his foot caught on a throw rug, and he had to catch himself on the back of the sofa to avoid taking a dive. 

“Alright, you’ve put your time in,” she said, patting him on the shoulder as he straightened, trying to reclaim his dignity. “I’m ready to go any time you are.”

He nodded solemnly, with the careful and precise manner of someone trying not to be nearly as drunk as they are. “Yes. That would be good.”

She snorted with laughter and left to call a cab.

 

***

 

Henry wasn’t exactly sure why Jo felt she needed to help him with his coat, but all the same she seemed eager to help. Jo told him to stand there and hold still while she did up the buttons, and he started to suspect he’d had a lot more to drink than he had intended.

He’d sort of wanted to, anyway. The elusive comfort found in the dead irresponsibility of drink—it was too tempting right now. Not that he’d ever been much of a drinker, but bad habits could build up over a lifetime. Around the time when things had changed drastically—when Abigail left—he’d realized that such coping mechanisms would become his ruler if he let them. So, he’d put alcohol away, along with many other vices. 

But it was New Years Eve, the best night of the year for vices, and not giving a damn about rules—that is, until the harsh light of day demanded new resolutions.

“Don’t give a damn about what?” Jo asked.

“Hm?” 

Reality intruded on his haze. He was in a cab.

A cab. Henry’s heart hammered and a flood of fear rushed through him. 

_Hello, Henry._

He stared at the cab driver’s ID card in front of him. 

_Buckle up._

Henry knocked Jo’s hands away, where she was trying to buckle his seatbelt for him.

“Henry? What’s wrong?” 

He dove for the door handle. He had to get out.

Jo grabbed at his arm, pulling it back and stopping him. “Hey, stop that! Henry!”

Her voice was too far away to matter. With a grunt he freed himself and managed to hook his fingers into the handle. He couldn’t breathe, he needed to get out.

The cab swerved as the cabbie pounded on the plexiglass window between, and Henry startled, shocked out of his scramble. 

“Hey! You get crazy, I throw you out! Okay?” 

Henry looked up at the the disgruntled profile—thick beard, bushy eyebrows. Not Adam. Not even close. The angry face matched the ID card picture on the back of the seat in front of him.

Not Adam. He slumped back in his seat, feeling sick.

What was wrong with him?

“Yes, sorry. I don’t—I’m sorry,” he stuttered, head swirling.

“Hey, Henry.” Jo reached across him and grabbed the seatbelt, her voice gentle and soft. “Let’s get you buckled, okay?”

The cab drove on, the cabbie glaring at Henry via the rearview mirror now and again. The fear and helplessness were all relentlessly rushing back now. The knowledge that at any moment, anywhere out there, Adam could come for him again; him, or Abe, or anyone Adam deemed worth his attention. These were the thoughts that came to him with cold sweats in the dead of night, when he woke and paced the length of hall to Abe’s room just to see him safely asleep, or stared at his hands like Lady Macbeth, wondering if he’d ever be able to wash off the blood. 

“Hey. It’s okay.”

Jo took his hand, and only then could he see he was shaking. 

“I drank too much,” he mumbled. “Ignore me.”

“In vino veritas, right?” Jo squeezed his hand. “It’s been a long few months. But he’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Henry swallowed at the lump in his throat, at the complete falsehood of her statement. He pulled his hand from hers and covered his eyes, trying to push away the sting. His emotions were out of control—he was out of control. This is why he shouldn’t drink. He needed to be sharp, to be on his toes, not vulnerable and off-guard. Not in front of Jo, not in front of anyone. He couldn’t afford this.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

Jo tugged at his sleeve, and coaxed his hands from his face. He sniffled, trying to focus on her words, but he couldn’t quite remember what she’d just said. 

“What?”

“Your singing. It’s pretty good. I’m going to make sure you sign up at the next department talent show.”

Tracking the shift in topics took the whole of his remaining mental faculties, and he sorted through a blur of memories to find one of him trying to teach Hanson the traditional lesser known verses of Auld Lang Syne, howling with laughter until his stomach hurt as Hanson’s atrocious vowels massacred Burns’ words. The thought of it made him smile, and Jo squeezed his hand.

“Hey, there we go.”

The warmth of her grip was grounding, and the fear faded. It was just him, Jo, and a very pissed off cabbie stuck driving the drunks around on New Years. His breathing was loud in his ears, and his body felt like it was under water, moving slow and clumsy. He clung to her hand. It was the only thing that felt real.

“Thank you, Jo.”

She reached in her pocket and produced a little package of tissues, and pulled one free. She leaned over and wiped at his cheek. 

“Look at that, missed some. Maria’s lipstick is amazing, I’m going to have to ask her where she got something that tough.”

Henry knew she was wiping away the few tears that had escaped, and he laughed at himself. 

“Thank you. Sorry.”

“Oh stop it. That’s what friends are for.”

He smiled at her kindness, and leaned his head back against the seat. The rocking of the cab lulled him, and his eyes drifted closed. 

 

***

 

Henry started snoring almost immediately after his eyes closed, and Jo patted his hand and put it back on his lap. 

What a mess. With luck this shrink at Bellevue could give him a hand with whatever Henry was keeping locked up in that overactive brain of his—the two seemed to have made a connection, so that was good.

Jo managed to rouse Henry when the cab pulled up in front of the antique store, and she ended up hauling him out and sending the cab on its way. He’d be sleeping on the front steps if she left him now. 

“I’m fine, Jo. Go on.” 

He’d propped himself up against the door jam, head hanging so his chin was near to his chest, dopey and mumbling with sleep.

“Right, of course you are.” She rooted in his coat pockets, finding his keys. “I’m just going to get you inside first, okay?”

Henry was humming Auld Lang Syne under his breath as she dragged him up the stairs to the apartment, feet catching on nearly every step. Apparently the traditional lyrics were ‘my Jo’ instead of ‘my dear,’ which Hanson had found hilarious. She was going to be hearing about that to the end of time.

She got him down onto the couch and a glass of water into him, and then pulled his shoes off for him while Henry took off his tie and loosened his collar. She dropped down onto the couch next to him, trying to decide if she was up for the challenge of coaxing him to bed, or just let him sleep it off on the couch.

Henry’s head jerked up suddenly, and he looked around the apartment. “Where’s Abe?”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think he’s home.”

Henry pushed himself up, staggering when he got on his feet. “Abe?”

He wove his way into the kitchen, and then down the hall towards the bedrooms. Jo heard him call out again, and then he was back, face creased in worry.

“What time is it? It’s late, his date should be done by now. He should be home.” Henry looked around, blurry-eyed and starting to work himself up again.

She joined him in the kitchen and held out her cell, offering it to him.

“Henry, relax. Call him if you want, but it’s New Years—he’s probably out having a good time.”

Henry was frowning at the screen, stabbing at it. He thrust it back at her, shaking it with uncharacteristic frustrated impatience. “Make the infernal thing work! I hate these things.”

She placed the call, and handed it back to Henry as it connected through. After a pause, she heard the tinny sounds of Abe’s voice on the other end. 

“Abraham! Where are you?” Henry demanded, his words thick and slurring together. A gap, and then, “Yes I know, but—no, I am not! Fine. Fine! No, Detective Martinez is here. Yes, alright, but I’m waiting up.”

Henry handed the phone back to her, and leaned against the counter.

“Everything okay then?” she asked.

“Yes.” He made his way to the couch and sat down again. He sank into the cushions like he’d come unglued. “Hard not to fret. I guess it never goes away.”

Jo sat next to him. “Relax, Henry. You’re not his dad—he’s a big boy and can take care of himself.”

Somehow the gentle tease was the exact wrong thing to say, and Henry’s face crumpled before he covered it with his hands.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” She rubbed his shoulder, concerned. He was all over the place tonight, like a dam had burst inside him. Given Henry’s usual reserve, she sort of hoped he wasn’t going to remember any of this tomorrow. “Just a joke.”

“Everything’s a joke,” he sighed into his hands. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Oh Jesus, Henry. Come here.”

She pulled him into a hug, and he leaned against her, shoulder to her chest, awkwardly twisted with his hands still covering his face.

She knew the feeling, like the universe was playing a series of massive jokes at your expense, and not a single one of them was funny. There were nights she opened the door to her house and turned straight around and left again, hoping the emptiness was going to resolve itself. Instead, she drove around until she was so tired she could barely see, and she could drop into bed and instant sleep without thinking too hard about it. Other days, she took the same route as Henry, with the odd broken dish to show for the explosive frustration with how stupid and unfair everything was. 

She stroked the back of his head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s hard. This is so bloody hard. It’s harder every day. How’m I supposed to do this?” he mumbled.

“What’s hard?”

But Henry didn’t respond. She continued stroking his head and his breathing was growing heavier, and hands dropped away as his eyes drooped and closed. She shifted uncomfortably as he sunk into sleep—boy, he was heavy when he was dead weight.

She maneuvered them so that Henry’s head lay on her lap, and she continued stroking his forehead to keep him relaxed. Like this, she suddenly realized how much stress lined Henry’s features, and the hollow darkness under his eyes. Poor guy. She ran her fingers through his hair, which had long since fallen into an unruly state. She could at least try to give him some of the comfort she couldn’t seem to manage to get through to him when he was awake. 

Henry twisted on the couch and shifted to his side. He nuzzled his face against the silk of her blouse with a soft noise, and his breath was warm through the fabric. He quickly dropped off again, probably not even fully awake in the first place. 

Yeah, probably best if he didn’t remember all this tomorrow. He’d be mortified. 

She was tired herself, and soon dozed off with Henry softly snoring in her lap. Some time later she woke with a start when the door closed and footsteps thumped up the stairs. She looked up groggily as Abe shuffled in. He dropped his keys on the counter and caught sight of her.

“Oh, hi there. Didn’t expect you’d still be here.”

“Hi. Sorry, I nodded off,” she said. 

Abe came into the living room, putting his hands on his hips and looking down at Henry sprawled on the couch. 

“Wow, he’s totally gone.” Abe shook his head, looking amazed. “God, I haven’t seen Henry drink more than a glass or two in—“ He cut himself short, and shrugged, scratching his head. “He’s gonna regret that.”

“Yeah, well, Hanson put a lot of effort into this work of art you see before you.” She looked down at Henry, his face still hidden against her stomach. “Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.” She looked up at Abe. “And how are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, fine. It’s not my first date Henry’s ruined. I swear, he’s got a radar for the worst possible time to call.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “More concerned about Henry than anything else.”

“Yeah.” She patted Henry’s head. He was still out cold. Maybe alcohol had loosened her own tongue a bit too, so she asked the question that was burning her up. “He’s, um—he’s not doing so well, is he?”

Abe gave her a long look, and then shook his head. “He’s still a doctor inside, you know. Do no harm, that sort of thing.” 

“Why’d he quit, anyway?”

“Not my story to tell. Sorry, kid.”

“Nah, s’ok. I’m being nosy,” she apologized, and then smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get it out of him someday.”

“You know, I bet you will.” Abe jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll get some blankets. We can leave him on the couch, you can take his bed. No point trying to get a cab now, you’ll just be waiting for ages.”

“Sure, thanks.”

Abe came back with a pillow and a blanket. Henry muttered something unintelligible as she extracted herself and stuffed the pillow under his head, but he didn’t wake.

In the bathroom as she readied herself for sleep, Jo looked at her reflection in the mirror, washed out from a long night and too many drinks. 

It got to everyone, eventually. Best they could do was prop each other up, and hope they all got to the other side. Maybe this was a good start for Henry. And, just maybe, it was another step for herself.

Here’s hoping the year ahead would be kind to both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was the unintentional inspiration for the [Henry Morgan's Seven Drunken Nights](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Henry_Morgans_Seven_Drunken_Nights) fic challenge.


End file.
